Like most of the population, I love me some summer. There’s just something about the salty grit in your hair from hours at the beach and the smell of BBQ kabobs smoking from your back porch that causes you to devotedly wait for those three and a half months every year. And, upon reflection, my favorite part isn’t even the semi-burned-tanned color I turn or the late night Cook Out runs—though I do have a deep appreciation for both. It’s the conversation. I don’t know what it is, but I consistently find myself having these really deep and honest conversations with people I may or may not even consider to be in my inner circle, more so during the summer than any other time of the year. These conversations stretch me to reflect and to consider things from a different perspective. I have these chats pretty frequently, so, admittedly, I go through a number of topics that usually end up being forgotten within the following week. Nonetheless, there’s always one or two that brand my heart.
In Kenya, our evenings would oftentimes be capped by indie folk, chocolate liquor (ew), a raging fireplace, and, of course, these conversations. One night, in particular, I lounged with two others on this large bed, each of us answering the given prompt—random questions that inspire conversation—when our time came. The prompts had been relatively light up until someone had asked (probably me), “What’s your biggest fear?” A beat skipped. Each of us knew that the inquiry wasn’t asking us to reveal our irrational fear of bikes (which, for the record, is quite rational when having hit a suicidal squirrel back in the 8th grade). The question challenged us to share our biggest, emotional fear with one another. Yikes. Talk about personal. Nonetheless, my biggest fear isn’t being vulnerable with others, so I was game.
It took a moment to think past the obvious answers—losing a family member, the future’s uncertainty—but I eventually verbalized the very thing that gives me chills just thinking about it: misrepresenting Christ. It horrifies me to the point of breaking out into a cold sweat. The thought absolutely terrifies me, but what’s worse? I know I’ve done it. I know I continue to do it, and I know I will do it in years to come.
It took so much self-control not to break down into a puddle of tears before the two other interns that night. Luckily, for my dignity’s sake, I held it together until I got into my own bed and underneath my thick, wool blankets. Snuggling into a cocoon of warmth, I let it out. I meekly wept as I thought about how I had and have and will wrongly portray the God I’ve earnestly begun to love. After all, the greatest pain is hurting someone that your heart belongs to, and the thought of having another not see the God that literally gave us His perfect and Holy Son as a sacrifice just so we could once again be so undeservedly in communion with Him through me because of my sinful tendencies is devastating (feel free to read that again).
I silently cried out to God. I began to feel His presence as He reminded me that because of my humanity, it’s impossible for me to escape sin, which, in turn, makes me incapable of continually mirroring Christ’s qualities. I chewed on this humbling reminder but still recognized feelings of restlessness. As I prayed for the root of these feelings to be revealed, the Spirit began to press “the ministry of reconciliation” on my heart (2 Corinthians 5:11-21). While these passages deal primarily with how God “reconciled us to himself through Christ," Paul tells us that we are consequently “given the ministry of reconciliation” (2 Corinthians 5:18-19). So that is what I’m doing. This open letter is me publicly reconciling with the distorted representation of Christ I have demonstrated as a result of provoking pain and hurt and confusion and doubt. Let it be known that my apology, at its core, is for not accurately conveying Christ in my words or deeds. I hope that the following conveys my sincerest regrets and that I am able to articulately differentiate between what I am identifying as my wrongdoing and what/who God really is.
1. I’m sorry for making Christianity about religion and not relationship.
It wasn’t until I lived in sweet, ol’ Georgia did I begin to see what a problem this is in our culture. Religion tries to water down what Christ has done by focusing on the rules and regulations that we’ve been “told to follow.” You can go to church, you can say the prayers, you can know all the verses and still never be a Christian. Please understand that Christianity is not about doing the right thing. Being a Christian simply means that you have recognized that Christ has already done everything needed for us to reconcile with the Father. Because we have believed and accepted this grace, confessing our sinful nature, we give Him our lives out of thanksgiving and love, not obligation. I apologize for the times that I’ve portrayed my faith as religious and not relational.
2. I’m sorry for not consistently showing love.
When I close my eyes, I see God sticking out his hand with the grumpy cat face dryly saying, “You had one job.” As a Christian, I have one job. Just one. Yet, I still haven’t been able to perfect it. I am instructed simply to love God and to love others. If I'm being honest, I’m not sure how many people would instinctively call me loving. I definitely have my moments, don’t get me wrong, but my love can be conditionally circumstantial. I find myself getting caught up in whether people “deserve” my love or not. Do I deserve Christ’s love? Um, absolutely not. He died for ALL people, not just the people I vibe with. This being said I apologize for not whole-heartedly loving you.
3. I’m sorry for overstepping my boundaries.
*Cringe* I do this a lot. I’m naturally a very passionate person. Anyone who knows me will agree. I love sharing my opinion, but without meaning to, this sometimes leads into overstepping my boundaries. Not everyone Most people don’t want to be preached at. Sometimes the most loving thing I can do is just shut up and sit in sympathetic silence. There is a time and place for everything. I apologize for not being sensitive to your boundaries.
4. I’m sorry for answering your questions inadequately.
Because I am very vocal about being a Christian, I have had many people ask me questions about my faith, which I absolutely love. Questions invoke curiosity, and curiosity invokes pursuit. The fact that I could be a part of that process for someone makes me dance a little bit (some snaps and some swaying—nothing special). However, there have been many times where I haven’t been able to completely answer my friend’s inquiries for whatever reason. I don’t always holistically pursue the Bible’s truth—historical, cultural, spiritual, etc.—to comprehensively answer your questions. I am not as knowledgeable about my faith as I would like to be. I apologize that I don’t seek out the answers as devotedly as I should.
5. I’m sorry for not seeing your humanity.
This one is the hardest to admit. Sometimes I view people as a project that needs to be fixed, completely disregarding their humanity. You are your own individual that will not come to faith simply because I tell you to do this, this, and this. Like I said, I am commanded to merely love. Not to convict, not to fix, but to love. The best way I can do this is by seeing your very present and very real physical and emotional needs. Until these needs are met, you are more than likely not going to be interested in my Jesus spiel. I have to show you first who He is through my actions, through my being with you, before I open my mouth about a God who loves more than I can ever possibly describe. Otherwise, I’m at risk of looking pretty spurious. Subsequently, I apologize for the times I’ve overlooked your humanity.
6. I’m sorry for identifying as a political party.
Okay. I really tried to avoid apologizing for the flaws of all believers. This article is about my desire to reconcile. I cannot speak for all Christians, but this needs to be addressed. Since when did being a Christian mean you were a Republican?! Oh my goodness, I am so sorry. So so so so sorry. Personally, I am neither a Democrat nor Republican, but I deeply feel the need to apologize for how our faith has been sickeningly intertwined with politics. It’s ridiculous to think that a modern-day Jesus would be a white, gun-holding Republican who adamantly believes in “no tax increases.” He and our faith should not be limited by a party’s political agenda. I apologize for the obvious political discrepancies associated with my faith.
Disclaimer: I am not apologizing for my faith. I will never do that. It is quite literally by Christ and Christ alone that I am alive and well enough to write this article. I owe Him absolutely everything. As I stated before, I am apologizing for misrepresenting Christianity. I understand that I am at fault for causing others to turn away from the very being that satisfies an individual’s essential desires. For that, I am so sorry. I genuinely ask for your forgiveness, though I certainly do not deserve it. I implore that you see beyond my faults and do not write off Christ simply because you encountered a disfigured version of Him through my sin. I am not perfect, but He is. Even when I’m on a good streak, what I show you dulls in comparison to the kind of love and the kind of peace and the kind of joy provided through Christ’s sacrifice that allows us to reconcile a relationship with God.
For those of you who are born-again, I challenge you also to reconcile. Come to terms with your own failure. Reach out to those you’ve wronged. Confess how you haven’t fully shown who God is. As Christians, we understand that we are all just sinners that are “justified freely by His grace through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus” (Romans 3:23-24). Let this be known. Whether that means merely sharing this article or picking up the phone to call the friend you’ve wronged, we are charged to reconcile. Imagine the revolution we can fashion if we simply humbled ourselves to show the One who ultimately matters by coming to terms with our past’s inconsistencies.
Xoxo,
Gospel Girl
